


yuta yes!

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, First Meetings, Laundry, M/M, probably not gonna do this over the course of 30 days but...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 03:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: See, the thing is, Yutaknowssummer flings are stupid. But this wouldn't be the first stupid thing he's done in his life.





	yuta yes!

**Author's Note:**

> otp prompt: first meeting

There's a boy sitting on top of one of the washing machines when Yuta enters the laundry room. It's August now, a sticky, sweaty month to go along with the sticky, sweaty feeling Yuta gets when he's outside for too long. Granted, there's nothing Yuta loves more than soccer--and football camp is fun, so fun--but the amount of quarters he's wasted on laundry? not so much.

 

Thankfully, the laundry room is an air-conditioned oasis. Boston University never bothers to shell out proper money for the air-conditioning over the summer, so Yuta and Johnny have to make do with two industrial-sized fans in their room. The laundry room is at least 5 degrees cooler, and it makes Yuta sigh in relief.

 

And the boy is kind of cute, too. He looks over at Yuta, phone in his hands, earbuds in, then looks away. He's in a middle of a hushed conversation in Chinese, no doubt video-calling his parents back home. As Yuta tries to load his dirty laundry in as quick as possible--he doesn't want the cute boy to catch a whiff of all of his dri-fit shorts and t-shirts--he calculates the time-zones in his head.

 

The boy must be from Asia, then, to be up so late talking to someone. No one else besides Yuta is crazy enough to be up at 2am.

 

Technically, the dorm has a curfew--on weeknights, students need to be up in their rooms after midnight and on weekends the management graciously extend the hours to 1am--but the laundry room has the blessing of being smack dab in the middle of a hall full of rooms. And Yuta's camp doesn't have bed-checks.

 

As Yuta presses the buttons of the machine--cold wash is the right one, right?--and tosses in a Tide pod, he registers the silence in the room. The boy's no longer calling his parents anymore.

 

Yuta looks up. The boy makes eye-contact with him coolly, nose wrinkling.

 

"Your laundry smells," he says, in barely-accented English. Then he smiles disarmingly. "You must be from the football camp."

 

"I, yes, I'm from Strikers," Yuta replies, words rushed. "Sorry about that. I'm Yuta."

 

"Sicheng," the boy offers. "I'm from Dance Arts."

 

Ah, yes. The dancing camp. Johnny had spent much of the past week complaining about how he's been trying to make progress with some dancer named Ten from that camp. Yuta has tried summer flings, thinks they're stupid, but doesn't discourage Johnny regardless.

 

"That's cool," Yuta replies. Then he smiles.

 

Sicheng looks away, cheeks slightly pink. Yuta knows he's got him, even after exchanging only a couple of sentences.

 

See, the thing is, Yuta _knows_ summer flings are stupid. But this wouldn't be the first stupid thing he's done in his life.

 

"Listen," Yuta continues, "I was gonna just go up to my room and wait out the wash cycles, but I think I'm gonna fall asleep if that happens.

 

"Wanna wait with me?" Yuta asks.

 

Sicheng nods, scooting over to make room for Yuta. "This is good practice for me," Sicheng says. "I'm usually too busy to talk during the day, so I have not been able to, ah, practice my English as much."

 

"Where're you from?" Yuta asks. He takes a surreptitious sniff of himself--just to make sure he doesn't smell, or something, even though he stole Johnny's tea tree body wash when he showered today--and then leans forward, closer to Sicheng.

 

"Wenzhou," Sicheng answers immediately. Upon seeing Yuta's furrowed brows, he adds, "Um, in east--southeast--China."

 

"Oh, okay," Yuta says, nodding in understanding. "I'm from California."

 

"Born in the US?" Sicheng asks.

 

"Yep," Yuta pops the p.

 

Sicheng hesitates, then looks at Yuta. "Do you live near... Hollywood?" he asks seriously.

 

Yuta smiles. Sicheng is fucking adorable. "Nah, I'm from Fremont--I mean, I'm from Northern California."

 

The conversation is like driving Yuta's hand-me-down 2005 Toyota--it's a little awkward at first, like a car spluttering as it starts, but once it gets going, it's _going_. Sicheng's fascinating, from his taste in music to the type he specializes in--he shows Yuta a video of him _flipping in mid-air_ , how is that not cool--and Yuta's enamored.

 

Maybe this wasn't so stupid after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> writing exercise


End file.
